


Virtually Yours

by selflessbellamy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers (sort of), Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Mutual Pining, Some FLUFF! because I can't write a fic without it apparently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 11:23:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11782128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selflessbellamy/pseuds/selflessbellamy
Summary: “Raven, I’ve said this before. The relationship between Bellamy and I is simple. We meet up, watch a shitty movie on Netflix or something. We fuck, and he leaves. That’s it.”“Oh, is that why he has a toothbrush at your place?”(Or the one in which Clarke promises herself to never sleep with Bellamy Blake — and fails spectacularly)





	Virtually Yours

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank Amber (@bilexualclarke on Tumblr) for beta-ing this fic for me. Your support has been absolutely wonderful!

_I've got no reason to doubt you_

_'Cause certain things hurt_

_And you're my only virtue_

**__ **

_September_

**__ **

Clarke has barely caught a glimpse of Bellamy Blake before she’s promised herself to never sleep with him. Certainly, there is no mistaking it: He’s the sort of guy at frat parties who always has a small crowd of admirers; girls on the verge of drooling at the sight of his biceps and guys laughing loudly at his horrible dad jokes as they attempt to drag him away for a dance. Grinning around the edge of his Styrofoam cup, Bellamy remains unbothered by those around him as if he’s never experienced being undesired in his entire life. _He’s probably just as much of a self-centered jackass as everyone says he is — he probably thinks that the whole world wants to sleep with him._ Well, not _her._

During her very first week of college, Clarke had bumped into a physics major named Raven Reyes, because she is Harper’s roommate and Harper had forgotten to return her notebook after class.

Even though Clarke has to admit that first impressions aren’t always right, this young woman with perfect eyebrows and intimidating brown eyes is just as badass as she looks at the initial glance. Not to mention that she’s a fucking genius who often uses so many difficult scientific terms in one sentence that Clarke has to ask for a simple translation.

She lets Raven pull her towards the crowd of college students who are trying to dance despite the fact that they’re almost too drunk to move their feet properly. 

“The next time some ableist idiot tells me that I can’t dance because of the brace on my leg, I’ll just show them a video of these people,” Raven shouts to make sure that she can be heard over the loud music that’s blasting from the speakers. Grinning, Clarke’s just about to reply when she senses someone looking at her.

Glancing over her shoulder, she doesn’t see who it is at first, but while scanning over the crowd of people around her, Clarke suddenly has to do a double-take. A few feet behind her by the couches, Bellamy Blake’s gaze is resting on her, dark brown and sparked by amusement. For a second, she’s baffled but quickly gathers herself to frown and raise her eyebrows at him. Still, he only smirks a little in response.

 

 

 

** Reasons Not To Sleep with Bellamy Blake  **

  1. The smugness rolls off him
  2. … And he’s oblivious to fact that it makes him seem like a douche.



 

(To be continued)

 

 

Noticing who Clarke just made eye contact with, Raven begins, “That’s…”

“I know who he is. Everyone seems to think he’s some sort of sex god, himself included.” 

At that, her friend only tilts her head slightly in agreement. Afterwards, they resume dancing until the room starts to feel like a sauna and they’re forced to drink some of the shitty, cheap beer that Raven has borrowed from her friends Monty and Jasper. Apparently, those two guys have the most impressive secret stash of alcohol and pot of the entire college.

After catching Bellamy make out for the fourth time with a fourth person, Clarke’s about to add another reason to her list, but she’s prevented from it because at the next second, he’s rushing through the sea of people towards the staircase. That’s when she notices that a guy has almost succeeded at pulling a visibly drunk girl towards the bedrooms, and she realizes that the only reason why he isn’t going to get away with it is that Bellamy grabs him forcefully by the collar of his shirt and all but slams him against the wall.

Suddenly, Clarke’s walking closer without really knowing why, and a few seconds later she can hear Bellamy growl, every syllable that emerges from his throat coated in fury, “Get your pathetic ass out of here before I call the cops!” Nodding, the other guy squirms, trying to wiggle himself of Bellamy’s grip, but he doesn’t actually succeed until he somehow manages to take a swing at him. 

As the guy slithers towards the door, Bellamy rubs his cheekbone and even though it looks as if it might only bruise, Clarke finds herself moving forward to take a quick look at it. As if her mind has hurled itself out of the window, she touches his chin and states, after a second of assessment. “You’re fine.”

Wrapping a hand around her wrist, he moves her hand from his chin. Then the corners of his lips curl upwards slowly, forming an amused smile just before he says, “Thanks for the evaluation, Princess.”

Clarke just stares at him.

 

(List: _continued)_

  1. _Seriously, what the fuck?_
  2. That smirk can’t be washed off his face. Yep, the guy thinks he’s a sex god.



 

 

Despite the fact that she doesn’t want to, she’s feels forced to acknowledge how his voice drops into unexpected softness when he addresses Raven, who has put her arm around the girl who was about to be pulled up the staircase, “Are you her friend?”

“No, but Clarke and I will take her back to the dorms.”

Smiling a little, Clarke joins Raven, putting her arm around the girl’s waist. Together, they manage to steady her, and Bellamy nods gratefully at them before they leave.

 

 

Somehow, Bellamy seems to be everywhere after that. He’s playing basketball in the local park with his friends just as Clarke threads across the grass with Raven and Harper, because this is where most of the college students like to eat their lunch on sunny days. Unfortunately, Clarke comes to realize that she can’t quite keep her eyes off him on _sunny days,_ as his dark curly hair almost falls into his eyes and his skin glows like bronze. He’s also at her favorite coffee shop on Sundays, smiling softly at his cup of extra strong espresso (not that she’s been paying attention to what he orders.)

 

(List: _continued_ )

 

  1. He makes me curious



 

Finally, when she sees him in the library, she just about yells at the universe because _what in the fresh HELL?_

But then she notices that he looks different. The black tank tops that he wears while playing basketball has been swapped in favor of a maroon-colored sweater, he’s wearing square-shaped glasses and his hair seems to be messier than usual. 

Afraid that he’ll notice her looking, Clarke decides to head towards the classics section to find what she came here for. 

Running her fingers along the worn book spines, she decides to spend more time in the library, because it’s wonderfully calm here, a nice escape from the chaotic campus, which has an atmosphere that she hates ninety-nine percent of the time. Luckily, she has an apartment in the city and doesn’t have to live in a dorm like plenty of her friends. She’d thought of asking Raven and Harper to move in with her, but they obviously enjoy sharing a dorm, so they just visit during the weekends.

She has barely taken a copy of _The Iliad_ from the shelf before the sudden sound of _his_ voice startles her. “Princess.” 

Sighing dramatically, she turns around to meet his gaze, but quickly realizes that it was a bad idea, since his eyes are actually smiling at her. His lips are, too, although not half as much. It damn near takes her breath away and she _hates_ him for it.

“Blake.”

At that, he grins widely, causing her to wonder whether the sun that has been hard to find during the last few weeks is actually just caught behind his teeth. “We’re not on first name basis yet, huh?” 

Clarke can’t help herself. Arching her eyebrows, she challenges his sassiness. “You’re the one who called me _Princess_.”

To her annoyance, those words only make him smile more and she doesn’t know how that’s possible. Adjusting the position of his glasses, he glances at the book under her arm and comments, “Good taste.”

 

(List: _continued_ )

 

  1. He’s full of surprises. I don’t like surprises.



  

Obviously, she hasn’t put much thought into his preferred genres of literature, but if she had, _classics_ certainly wouldn’t have been her first guess. Most guys she knows don’t even _like_ reading at all, and only do it because their education forces them to — it’s nice to meet someone who’s different.

“It’s mostly for reference. Art. I’m doing these pieces about—“ Clarke catches herself quickly before she gets too carried away. Is she really _speaking_ to Bellamy Blake? Fuck, she shouldn’t be. Not when she’s trying to gather reasons to dislike him, so that she doesn’t end up in bed with him. She won’t give him the satisfaction.

Then, maybe she’s judged him too hard based on what she’s heard, which she realizes when he simply tilts his head a little and says, “Please, go on. I’ve loved that book my entire life. I’m interested.” 

Now, she feels herself smiling, because she can’t remember the last time someone told her that they were interested in her projects. She tells him about the series of sketches that she wants to draw based on the Greek goddesses, and he actually _beams,_ which is what makes her certain: the sun is caught somewhere in his body, shining underneath his skin. 

“Which one are you thinking of doing first?” 

After pondering for a moment, Clarke replies, “Nyx. She’s incredibly underappreciated.”

When she’s said that, Bellamy looks as if he’s about to clap, but he doesn’t. Instead, he keeps smiling and nods in agreement. They stand in front of each other for a while, unsure of what to say until a question stumbles out of her mouth without permission. “Are you following me?” 

“No. Are you following me?”

Licking her bottom lip, Clarke suppresses the desire to draw a mountain chain along the new cease that has formed between his furrowed eyebrows. Shaking her head, she pulls her eyes from his, deciding to distract herself by counting the amount of cracks in the book cover. He speaks again, but his voice is less confident and it almost sounds _worried._

“Do you think I’m some sort of creep because I became aggressive at the party?”

At that, an emotion seeps into her bones slowly, and it feels dreadfully like guilt. He doesn’t want to be judged, and she hasn’t done much else ever since she saw him.

 

**~~ Reasons Not To Sleep with Bellamy Blake ~~ **

**~~~~ **

  1. ~~The smugness rolls off him…~~
  2. ~~… And he’s oblivious to fact that it makes him seem like a douche.~~
  3. ~~_Seriously, what the fuck?_ ~~
  4. ~~That smirk can’t be washed off his face. Yep, he thinks he’s a sex god.~~
  5. ~~He makes me curious.~~
  6. ~~He’s full of surprises. I don’t like surprises.~~



 

(List status: _scratched_ )

 

 

Instantly, she looks at him again, senses her own gaze soften as it searches his. “No,” as that word emerges from the hollow of her throat, it sounds like someone else’s voice. This voice is kind, forgiving — not the voice of a girl who had her heart broken by Lexa fairly recently. “I think it was really brave, selfless. You did the right thing. Everyone should take a lesson from you…” _Including myself._

He blinks, rendered speechless by her unexpected words and the sudden softness that made them fall from her lips.

Once he has processed everything, the confidence settles on his face again and for a brief moment Clarke thinks about continuing the list, but then she notices the friendly edge that has reshaped his features a little, and decides not to. 

Instead, she leaves the library with a smile on her face and Bellamy’s phone number burning in her list of contacts _(“If we ever need to help each other out again,”_ he’d said, winking.)

  

By the last week of September, there is absolutely no question about it: Bellamy Blake is flirting with her, but it’s mostly harmless — Mostly, he sends her memes along with a few emojis and a caption that says _‘this made me think of you’_ and she doesn’t like the way her heart seems to swell every time.

He’s two years older than her, so they’re not in the same classes, but whenever Clarke, Raven and Harper decide to eat lunch in the park, Bellamy waves at her despite the fact that he’s playing basketball. Today, it actually results in a complaint from his friend, “Fuck, you’re distracted.” 

“Calm down, _Nathan._ It’s a game. I know you’re as competitive as Monica Geller, but honestly—”

Did he seriously just compare someone to a _Friends_ character? Wow.

 

** Reasons Why Bellamy Blake is A Dork  **

****

  1. Loves mythology more than every history teacher in the world
  2. Compares people to _Friends_ characters



(Warning: this list might become too long to keep track of)

 

Honestly, Clarke didn’t know that it was possible for someone to be a giant dork and unapologetically sexy at the same time. _Wait, what did she just think?_ She still doesn’t want to sleep with him — Of course not. She internally tells herself she’s not _that_ weak just before her friends catch her staring at his toned biceps. 

“Jesus Christ, Griffin. Don’t tell me you wanna hit that,” Raven says, perhaps a little too loudly while Harper places two fingers under Clarke’s jaw to make it close. _Shit,_ she hadn’t even noticed that it’d slacked.

“No, of course not,” she snaps, feeling heat rush to her face. “He’s way too smug.”

Even though she says this, it actually tastes slightly like a lie on her tongue, and she still glances at Bellamy in secret, causing him to wink at her again before throwing the basketball through the net. Even though she says this, she still agrees to meet him in the library that evening. 

Of course, she doesn’t tell her friends that. 

But when Bellamy shows up at the library, he seems incredibly tense, even though he clearly attempts to hide it by plastering on a smile. The cease in his brow has returned and his shoulders have slumped a little, which has her wondering whether he’s worried about something. 

In attempt to make him feel better despite not knowing what the problem is, Clarke pulls the sketch that she did of Nyx out of her bag to show it to him. Doing these drawings is taking longer than she’d expected, and she doesn’t want to admit it, but it’s most likely because she knows that there’s a certain Greek mythology enthusiast who wants to see them.

Instantly, his smile widens, easily becoming more genuine, and Clarke feels her heart swell a little in triumph as he gushes about every detail that he likes: The constellations that seem to be tangled within the airy dark material of Nyx’s dress, the moon above her head and her powerful, mysterious stance.

“Anything you don’t like?” Clarke asks, trying not to feel nervous. Honestly, she’s relieved when he appears to struggle with finding something worth mentioning. 

“Whenever I picture her,” Bellamy begins, touching a finger to his chin in thought, “I’ve always imagined her as less… Royal, I guess. Wearing less jewelry, because the night has a simple kind of beauty. It doesn’t need much embellishment, but that’s just my interpretation. This is yours and I really like it.”

Well, that’s definitely the kindest feedback she has received in years, and it makes everything in her smile. As soon as Bellamy puts the drawing back on the table, however, his lips fall into a frown again, causing Clarke to finally ask. “Long day?” 

At first, he appears confused, his eyebrows knitting together once more until Clarke — without thinking it through — reaches out to squeeze his shoulder gently, feeling his muscles flex under her touch. “You’re tense,” she notes, relieved when her voice sounds normal, because electricity has started coursing through her body.

Because he just huffs initially, Clarke is led to believe that she did or said something wrong. Frankly, she’s busy preparing excuses in her mind when he says, “The asshole that I kicked out of the frat party is in one of my classes. He’s unapologetically misogynistic and homophobic and simply listening to him gives me a giant fucking headache.”

“Oh, now I feel bad for you.”

Managing a smile, Bellamy runs a hand through his messy hair _and_ worries his lower lip at the same time. Instantly, Clarke wishes that it were illegal for him to do so, because she’s struck by a desire to run her fingertips through those unruly curls and bite his full bottom lip.

“Actually, I’m afraid that the guy’s ludicrous opinions killed some of my brain cells… Is there any way for you to check how many?”

Clarke raises an eyebrow in amusement and shakes her head before she leans forward slightly. “There isn’t, sadly… But if you want me to, I’ll be happy to help you with the tension in your shoulders.” 

Naturally, Bellamy’s as surprised by her flirting as she is, even though he gathers himself pretty quickly, taking her hand that she hadn’t realized was outstretched. His palm is so much bigger than hers, rougher yet also a lot warmer, but they fit together despite all of the differences. Immediately, Clarke feels the comfortable heat of him seep into her skin until it’s running through her veins, mixing with the blood in them.

Despite the fact that it’s late and they’re almost the only people in the library, Clarke’s heart still beats rapidly against her ribcage as she leads him into an abandoned aisle, pressing her back against the shelf. Inching closer, Bellamy lets his hand travel up her arm until it cradles the back of her head. Determined to make the first move, Clarke steps forward and allows her eyes to linger on his lips before she captures them with her own.

He responds right away, kissing her back passionately — his lips are firm against hers, slightly demanding but not too much, even though his teeth graze her bottom lip. It creates sparks in her chest, makes her fingertips bury themselves in his hair to find it softer than she’d expected it would be. 

In return, Bellamy curls the hand that’s not protecting the back of her head around her hip, and when she feels his blunt nails dig into her skin, she pulls a little at his hair, which causes a groan to emerge from his throat.

“You like that?” She breathes against his parted lips, to which he only replies with another groan that sounds a bit more strangled than the first one. Feeling a mix of confidence, excitement and sass bubbling inside her chest, Clarke rakes her nails down his shoulders slowly.

“Fuck, Clarke,” he rasps, the words falling onto the skin of her neck just before he sucks a line of hot kisses onto it, and it almost makes her mind go numb, almost has her forgetting the fact that this is the first time that he has said her name.

Somehow, it causes her to pull away from him. “I’m sorry, I just…”

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against hers for a moment. When he looks into her eyes, his gaze is soft despite the flames that still linger within them. Can he see how much she wants him?

 

“Did it work? Are your shoulders relaxed now?” She asks, grinning slightly.

 

At her question, she could’ve sworn that she saw him blush for a second, but the dim light in the library makes it difficult to tell. “Oh yeah. Thank you for that.”

Before she leaves, Bellamy grabs a hold of her arm. “Remember that I’m here if _you_ need anything.”

 

Those words might’ve sounded innocent to anyone else, but Clarke knows that ‘ _anything’_ is really a code for sex. Not that she thinks he would hesitate to help paint her living room if she needed that, but she doesn’t — and on her way out, she struggles to convince herself that she doesn’t need sex either.

* * *

 

_October_

In October, her vibrator breaks which basically means she’s _fucked._ Her hands have grown so used to holding pens and paintbrushes over the years that they no longer know how handle anything else, which is a fucking problem — and a serious one at that. 

Because she comes home one day, every bone in her body suffering from the strain of an entire day of project planning, and as if that hadn’t been torturous enough, she’d decided to spend two hours in the gym, because finals week is coming up and she’s been surviving on junk food the entire week. Hoping that it will help, Clarke takes a long shower, and even though it makes the most of the pain and exhaustion evaporate from her body, she’s still in desperate need of an orgasm.

A week ago, after she’d expressed her despair over the vibrator to Raven and Harper, they’d encouraged her to start online dating — or even better, make a Tinder profile. 

(“Ew, no. My standards are not _that_ low, Raven. I’m not that desperate.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes! I’ll find another way.”)

What’s worse is that she decides to put her black lacey underwear on, throw a sheer button up over her shoulders and discovers that Bellamy’s number has burned every other contact in her phone, so that she can only see his. She remembers what he’d said: _“I’m here if you need anything,”_ and groans out loud before tossing her phone towards the couch.

Walking into the kitchen, she eyes the bottle of red wine that her parents gave her when she turned twenty-one and decides to have a glass despite the fact that she’s never enjoyed it when she was allowed to taste some during her parents’ fancy dinner parties.

It still tastes like crap, she realizes, abandoning the glass on the counter after having five sips. 

Suddenly, she’s struck by the realization that she doesn’t actually care. She doesn’t need to get drunk — she needs to get _laid_. She’s in her sexiest set of lingerie, and Bellamy’s words are still burning at the back of her mind. 

_Fuck it._

Tonight, that list she’s made will turn to pathetic ashes. Worrying her lower lip, Clarke lets her thumbs dance in the air over the letters for a minute before she starts to type the message.

 

**~ Bellamy Blake ~**

 

Do you have time?

I need your help.

 

Sure. What do you need?

 

An orgasm.

 

Please tell me you weren’t drinking anything

while you read that.

 

Just one?

And I wasn’t drinking anything btw.

 

Just come over. Things are desperate for me rn.

 

My vibrator broke.

 

Oh shit. I see.

I’ll be right there.

 

Just text me the address.

 

 

When Bellamy’s at her doorstep twenty minutes later, he doesn’t know she spent that time pacing around the apartment, ruffling her hair and applying a bit of nude lipstick for effect. Nevertheless, judging by the way his eyes darken as they slide down her body, lingering at the curve of her breasts, he appreciates the lingerie.

“You really don’t play, do you?” He smirks, stepping inside. 

“I usually cover up more, but I was wearing jeans. They’re impractical.”

Looking around for a bit, Bellamy takes his shoes off, then asks. “Do we just…?” 

When he looks up at her, she smiles mischievously, which is something that goes well with her raised eyebrows. “Don’t you want a tour of the apartment first?” 

Bellamy has barely agreed before she’s grabbed the collar of his jacket and captured his mouth in a playful kiss. Soon, his hands move to her waist, and she turns, backing him into the kitchen while letting the fabric of his jacket fall to the floor. Grinning, she pulls back to say, “This is my kitchen where I cook my crappy dinner, often in the microwave.”

“Excellent countertop,” he muses before lifting her onto it. Then he kisses her shamelessly, his teeth clanking against hers while his fingertips tangle within her hair, managing to pull it a little, and even though it certainly doesn’t hurt, it sends a wave of electricity through her body that ends as heat between her legs. Breaking away to catch her breath, Clarke runs her thumb along the sharp edge of his jawline and is unable to resist the temptation of kissing it.

But that’s it. Her blue eyes carry a teasing glint as they look into his. With ease, she moves from the countertop and leaps into the living room, knowing that he’ll follow her. 

“My living room,” she presents, causing him to chuckle. “I have Netflix and the entire _Friends_ box set. Also, my couch is comfortable, supposedly a great place for sex, but it’s not exactly what I have in mind for tonight.” 

As soon as she’s walked to him, they kiss again, slower this time and she manages to pull off his sweater _and_ unbuckle his belt. For a minute, Clarke’s distracted by the muscles of his chest, letting her lips wander across his defined abs and her hands map his sternum.

“Is the tour over or…?” He teases, but immediately has to suppress a groan as Clarke’s lips latch onto his pulse point. 

“Of course not,” Rolling her eyes, she takes his hands and backs into the hallway, then pushes the door to her bedroom open with her foot. As soon as they’re inside, Bellamy kisses her, perhaps to prevent her from saying anything, but she doesn’t actually mind. Not when the tip of his tongue coaxes her lips apart so that he can murmur dirty promises into her mouth, telling her how many times he plans to get her off and how he plans to do it. 

It has chills forming on her skin, and just like that, Clarke lets him have some control. 

When Bellamy pushes her onto the bed, she expects the world to spin faster, time to pass quicker, but it doesn’t. To her surprise, he’s thorough and calm, his fingertips splaying across the skin of her stomach and thighs, but even his softness ignites fire, has her eyelids fluttering shut. For some reason, she didn’t imagine that he’d care this much about foreplay, especially not when she invited him to her apartment so randomly, but he means business. That’s for sure. 

Still, the sight of the black lingerie causes him to mutter a curse against the inside of her knee. His dark brown gaze darkening to the point where they look black in the dim light of her bedroom, he lets his hand travel slowly over the delicate fabric before slipping two fingers past the band and brushing them along her folds.

“Is this okay?”

Feeling her skin heat up, Clarke manages to breathe. “ _Yes._ ”

As it turns out, it’s the last word she’s able to say for a long time, because he decides to go down on her, and the only sounds that will emerge from her throat then are strangled moans. Bellamy doesn’t say much either, simply murmurs a few incoherent praises in between eager licks. 

Until suddenly, he says, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” 

For a moment, Clarke considers not answering, but because his voice is soft, she chooses to tell him the truth. “Yeah, about nine months… Is it that obvious?”

He presses his lips to her inner thigh, chuckling in a way that sends vibrations through her entire body. “You’re trembling. I just wanted to make sure that you weren’t uncomfortable.” 

At that, her heart swells once more even though she’s forbidden it. In effort to forget that it happened, she tells him to fuck her, because it’s what he came here to do. When he dares to call her impatient and a princess in the same sentence, Clarke pulls at his hair and bites his bottom lip until he groans loudly. 

“Who’s impatient now?”

“Don’t test me. I can keep this up for hours until you’re _begging_ me to fuck you.” 

She laughs, and immediately realizes that she shouldn’t have done it, as he turns his full attention to her breasts, reminding her how easily his tongue can make her gasp, as it swirls around her nipples. At some point, most of Clarke’s mind goes numb. She closes her eyes until there’s nothing left in the world except him: His lips pulling moans from her throat and his fingertips coaxing the strain out of her body by massaging her hips and ribcage. In the end, the sound of his voice pulls her back to the surface. 

“Ready?” 

Grabbing his strong shoulders, Clarke opens her eyes to find him smiling lazily above her. When she nods frantically, he kisses a line of fire down her throat and pushes into her slowly in a way that almost steals her breath completely. 

“Are you okay?” 

She nods again. And that’s it.

Clarke’s honestly amazed at how well they move together, quickly discovering a pace that makes both of them breathless in minutes. Because of this, she doesn’t expect them to last long, but somehow they do, which allows them to experiment with a few different positions, including one that makes the mattress creak as if it’s about to collapse. 

“If we break the bed, we’ll move to the couch,” she breathes raggedly against his lips, causing him to laugh. 

At last, they roll off of each other, onto their backs, breathing in synch for a couple of minutes. Feeling boneless and flushed, Clarke turns her head to look at him and exhales, “Thank you,” like she’s closing a business deal with him. “You’ve been a great help.” 

A _really_ great one actually, since he got her off three times. If he’s counted, he must be feeling extra smug right now.

Luckily, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he smiles, asking, “Are you a cuddler?”

Looking at him, Clarke mirrors his smile. “Do I look like one?”

“Maybe a little bit,” winking at her, he moves a little to make room for her. As soon as she’s curled into his side, Bellamy presses a kiss to the top of her head. For a few minutes, they let silence settle around them, and Clarke’s fingertip doodles lazy patterns on his ribcage.

After she’s admitted that she’s not used to having casual sex, Bellamy offers to stay a little while longer, and they end up watching a documentary about the universe on Netflix, not bothering to dress before doing so. 

Clarke’s just realized that the sparks in his eyes resemble stars when he decides to leave, afraid that he’ll fall asleep if he stays for much longer. She lets him, thinking that she has experienced the beginning and end of everything with him in the matter of a couple hours. He’s not going to be at her apartment again…

(She doesn’t know how wrong she is)

  

“You did _what_?” After almost choking on a mouthful of shitty beer, Raven stares at her. Harper does too, even though there’s a shadow of pleasant surprise on her face. Smirking unapologetically, Clarke shrugs and takes a pretzel from the snack bowl in her friend’s lap.

“You can’t blame me. I was desperate, and I didn’t want to sleep with a complete stranger. Besides, it was good… No, scratch that. It was fucking _amazing._ ” 

While a grin spreads across Harper’s face, Raven can still only stare at her in awe, because Clarke’s not usually someone who decides to go against her friends’ advice or her own judgment.

“He’s really a sex god?”

Chuckling around the pretzel, Clarke glances at Harper, “I won’t give him that much credit. I think the quality of the sex was the result of mutual effort. For some reason, we were really great together.” Noticing Raven’s raised eyebrow, Clarke sighs and adds. “Relax, babe. It’s not like it’s gonna happen again.”

Because she doesn’t _think_ it will — not because she doesn’t want it to. After all, she only did him one favor, which he returned last night. There’s nothing left to account for. Besides, she can just buy a new vibrator that will get the job done. 

She doesn’t, however, buy a new vibrator….

  

Instead, she calls Bellamy over and over until he starts to show up by himself. This causes her to wonder whether he has a sixth sense that tingles whenever she wants to have sex. Some nights, he brings Chinese takeout, which they eat in front of the television. By the third week of October, Clarke has finished a few other sketches of Greek goddesses and they meet up at the library so that he can see them. It’s not until he knows how she likes her coffee — with milk and a spoon of chocolate sprinkles — that she realizes they’ve become friends.

Friends with benefits.

 

“ _Fuck…_ Oh shit — _Bellamy._ ”

She’s been told by her exes that she’s loud in bed sometimes, but she never actually realized _how loud_ before he came into the picture. By now, he has mapped all of her sweet spots, knows just how to pull moans from her throat, and yes, _make her beg for him._

Luckily, Clarke has discovered a few things herself. For example, he loves borderline bruising kisses and he nearly loses his mind when she rides him. Bellamy’s almost never speechless, so the fact that he can’t do anything but moan while she’s moving above him has her feeling incredibly triumphant.

Running his hands across her shoulder blades, Bellamy kisses her collarbone, letting his teeth graze it. He already has her feeling boneless, but clearly wants to impress her today, as he pushes her off the edge once more using his fingers and nuzzles her cheek before they fall back against the pillows.

“By the way,” he breathes after a minute, “When you send me pictures of a position that you want us to try, please give me a warning so I don’t open the message at work.”

“Shit, sorry,” Clarke laughs, sensing a blush creep into her cheeks as she pats his chest in support. Grinning, Bellamy cradles the back of her head and kisses her while he still can. 

They’ve made some rules.

 

** Rules for Sleeping with Bellamy Blake **

  1. All kissing post-sex must happen within ~~10~~ 15 minutes
  2. Staying overnight is prohibited
  3. So is sleeping with other people
  4. … So is falling in love



 

He ends up breaking one anyway, because he falls asleep, but she decides not to wake him up. It’s her fault after all. She shouldn’t have gone down on him this late, knowing that it makes him drowsy.

When rays of sunshine wake her up the next morning, Bellamy’s gone and the only evidence that remains of his presence are the scrambled eggs in the pan that greet her once she’s stepped into the kitchen.

He made her _breakfast,_ and her stupid heart swells.

* * *

 

  

_November_

 

On one particularly shitty day, Clarke invites him over, even though she doesn’t want to have sex. Frankly, she just wants to watch a cheesy movie with him and cuddle, but her text doesn’t mention that. Despite this, he enters her living room within thirty minutes to find her lying on the couch, almost buried by her duvet. 

“I bought chocolate for you,” he says, sounding a little sheepish. Running a hand through his hair, he watches her for a moment before sitting down at the edge of the couch to move a wavy strand of golden hair from her eyes.

Awestruck, Clarke replies, “Does your sixth sense also tell you when someone’s on their period?”

“No, but I have a little sister.”

While Clarke’s an only child, she’s fairly certain that having female siblings doesn’t automatically make you skilled at guessing something as random as a menstrual cycle. Whatever. He’s sweet.

“Thanks, my hero. Now, please don’t move your hand.”

Somehow, his warm palm has started rubbing circles on the small of her back, chasing the cramps off her spine. Bellamy chuckles, and for a moment, she thinks that he’s going to lean down to kiss her temple or something, but then she remembers that _boyfriends_ do that — and he’s not her boyfriend.

“You sounded sad on the phone.”

“Bellamy, I _texted_ you.”

He huffs. “You didn’t use emojis.”

Well, that’s true. Usually, she ends her text messages with a few emojis that can be interpreted as dirty, which is why the eggplant one now has a permanent spot in her ‘favorites’ section.

Does this mean that he came here not expecting sex? That he came out of worry for her? The mere possibility of that sends shockwaves of surprise through her body. 

Still rubbing circles on her back, Bellamy asks what’s going on, as if he — simply from the lack of emojis in her text — is certain that she’s feeling down. Surprisingly, he’s right. Glancing at him, Clarke takes a quick breath before she explains.

“I handed in an art project today, and my professor told me that she didn’t understand it. But I’ve worked so hard, and—“ She becomes slightly embarrassed when she realizes that her voice is turning strangled, decides to stop herself before she does something stupid, like burst into tears.

The soft smile on Bellamy’s face hasn’t disappeared. Brushing his thumb along her cheekbone, he replies reassuringly, “I’m sure it was great, Clarke. If your professor doesn’t understand it, that’s on her. Not you. Artwork is supposed to be the product of someone’s imagination, and we don’t always understand what’s happening inside another person’s head. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.” 

Feeling gratefulness seep into her bones, Clarke beams at him. She pretends that the rules don’t exist for a reason, scooting over to make room for him, and he understands immediately, settling next to her despite the fact that it clearly surprises him.

“Friends can cuddle, right?”

Bellamy nods at that, pulling her closer until she’s inhaling the scent of his cologne that lingers at the fabric of his worn BU sweatshirt: It’s slightly spicy, but the overpowering scent is definitely something that reminds her of petrichor. He’s a soft rainfall.

After laying there for a couple of minutes in silence, Bellamy tempts her with even more rule breaking:

 

** Rules for Sleeping with Bellamy Blake **

****

  1. All kissing post-sex must happen within ~~10~~ 15 minutes
  2. Staying overnight is prohibited
  3. So is sleeping with other people
  4. … So is falling in love
  5. ~~DON’T SHOWER TOGETHER~~



 

When she tells him that she doesn’t feel like having sex, he tells her that showers are very beneficial — not just because they provide an excuse to have sex, but because it’s _de-stressing._

In the end, that’s all it takes to convince her to break the rule with him. Within minutes, she realizes why it was put on the list to begin with, because Bellamy massages shampoo into her scalp and smoothens lavender soap across her skin, making it feel ten times more sensitive. She knows this because she suddenly has to battle the desire to kiss him every two seconds.

Returning the favor, Clarke washes his hair and finds herself unable to break the intense eye contact she has with him. It feels as if he’s gotten under her skin and is making his way through every cell in her body, stealing her ability to breathe properly. 

The only thing that will make it better is if she kisses him. So she does just that, pulling his head towards hers before pressing her lips against his carefully. Surprised, it takes him a second or two to react, but then he pulls her closer vigorously, steadying her to make sure that she doesn’t slip.

For a few blissful minutes, the rules don’t exist. He’s everywhere all at once, kissing her lips, shoulder, breasts and showering her again, this time in his softness. Pressing her fingertips to the wet stars across his cheeks, Clarke whimpers into his mouth, feeling herself tremble a little. In the end, this is what causes him to pull back to stare at her breathlessly, as an edge of worry has appeared in his dark brown eyes.

“I’m sorry. Are you okay?” 

She apologizes, too, placing a hand on his forearm to reassure him that he didn’t do anything wrong.

When they step out of the shower, a strange tingling sensation seems to have settled under Clarke’s skin, causing it to prickle and flush. Her heart beats faster as well. _Oh fuck._

Abandoning her jeans on the bathroom floor, Clarke simply slips into a long, washed out t-shirt and buries herself under the duvet again to hide the blush that’s coloring her cheeks.

“Want me to make you something for dinner? My sister often resorts to instant noodles when she’s on her period, and that’s not nearly nutritious enough when you’re running low on energy.”

“Oh my god,” she grins. “You really are a mother hen.”

Shrugging, Bellamy mirrors her grin and starts to rummage through her kitchen cupboards when she informs him that she bought ingredients for lasagna yesterday. “I was planning on making it myself, of course, but I didn’t know that my cramps would be so bitchy.” 

“You don’t need to help me. I promise that I won’t burn your kitchen down.” 

While Bellamy prepares the food, he tells her about how he taught himself to cook when he was a teenager. His mother had to work three jobs to support their family, which meant that she was never home to cook dinner in the early evenings. He’d started out by mastering simple dishes — soups and mac and cheese — but eventually became quite skilled at cooking almost anything.

 

“Again, you’re my hero. Thank you,” Clarke manages to mumble around a mouthful of quite delicious lasagna. Seriously, the sauce she usually makes is kind of tragic compared to his.

“No problem.”

There’s a clear edge of guilt in his voice, and she knows that it’s about the kiss, even though it had been her who kissed _him_ in the first place. If anyone should feel bad, it should be her, but she doesn’t. Frankly, her heart flutters in her chest every time she thinks about it. 

“Can I confess something?” She asks suddenly, and listens to his breath hitch in surprise. Instantly, he tries to cover it up by clearing his throat a little. Then he nods. 

Looking into his eyes for the first time since the intense gazing in the shower, Clarke admits, “I don’t want you to leave tonight. You can if you want to or have to or— But I’d like it if you stayed.”

Those words have barely emerged from her lips before he’s kissing her languidly. As her hand moves to the back of his head, a surprised noise emerges from the hollow of her throat. He tastes vaguely of pasta sauce and coffee. It’s _wonderful…_

… But it’s over as suddenly as it begun, because he pulls back, and the look in his eyes tells her that he’s internally scolding himself. Before he can apologize, however, Clarke presses her lips to the corner of his mouth. 

“We’ve already broken a set of rules. Let’s just say that tonight’s different, okay?” 

They agree on that, which is why they kiss while they do the dishes, during commercial breaks, while making the bed — and until they drift off to sleep.

 

In effort to make up for their _one_ different night, they spend the rest of the month fucking. They fuck in her bed, on the couch, against walls, on the kitchen counter and in _the shower_ until they suddenly can’t anymore. 

The night that everything changes, Bellamy’s standing in her front doorway unannounced, staring at her in utter awe because she’s wearing the BU sweatshirt he’d come to collect. Her lips parting in bafflement, Clarke reaches to take it off while urging an apology to emerge from her throat, but before she can form the words, he’s stopped her hands from moving the fabric further. 

“Keep it. It suits you.”

It _really_ does: Its dark blue material makes the color of her eyes pop, and it’s clearly a couple of sizes too big on her, because the fabric covers most of her thighs. When Clarke had found under her bed that evening, she’d found its softness irresistible — almost as irresistible as being wrapped in his arms.

With no hesitation, Bellamy takes a step forward and lets his lips fall onto hers, kiss them patiently. By now, she’s used to him carrying her, but this time feels different somehow, as if his arms form a throne for her. Everything in the universe slows down as they move to the bedroom, stars glow in a million beautiful shades behind her eyelids, and she can feel their hearts beat in sync. 

This time, he doesn’t whisper dirty promises into her ear, leaves no visible marks on body. Instead, he murmurs ‘ _beautiful’_ against her collarbone and compares the glow of her skin to that of the moon. 

She realizes that Bellamy’s love is like poetry. 

Kissing her throat, he keeps his thrusts slow, but they’re deep enough to steal her breath. When she lets her eyelids flutter shut, two galaxies collide. _Theirs._ It doesn’t result in an explosion, just in a forceful ray of light.

 

** Rules for Sleeping with Bellamy Blake **

 

  1. Don’t fall in love
  2. _Don’t_ fall in love
  3. DON’T FALL IN LOVE
  4. _DON’T FALL IN L O V E_
  5. **DON’T FALL IN LOVE**



  

She can feel her heart struggling as it tries not to be marked by the shape of his. The way that he kisses and touches her makes her want to forget everything she’s promised herself in the past months. Briefly opening her eyes, she stares right into the soft earth that colors his gaze and finds herself being unraveled slowly by the affection within it.

“ _Bellamy…_ ” Breathing his name, she clings onto his shoulders for dear life, knowing that she’s about to get lost in him. It shouldn’t be possible for someone to be her salvation and destruction at the same time… 

… But he _is._

 

She doesn’t know exactly why that night chances the course of everything so drastically, but it does. From that night on, he has a toothbrush by her bathroom sink and a permanent place by her stove every Saturday morning as he makes pancakes for them…

“Raven, I’ve said this before. The relationship between Bellamy and I is simple. We meet up, watch a shitty movie on Netflix or something. We fuck, and he leaves. That’s it.”

Honestly, Clarke should know better. After all, her best friend is a genius, nearly impossible to lie to. Proving this, Raven arches an eyebrow and glances at Harper, who simply wiggles hers before taking a sip of her drink.

“Oh, is that why he has a toothbrush at your place?”

“I could’ve sworn that I saw a male shaver in the bathroom before we left,” Harper adds, grinning and Raven only nods at that.

“How many of his shirts have you stolen?”

Failing at hiding the deep blush that’s making its way into her cheeks, Clarke sighs dramatically and watches her friends for a full minute before she admits, “Three.” 

The two girls exchange a knowing look. After all, they both know what falling in love feels and look like. Raven, who’s rational and serious most of the time, has been sending heart eyes to Luna, the lead singer in an indie rock band that plays at the bar every Friday. Harper is mostly an excellent wing woman, as she introduced Monty, her ex-boyfriend, to Nathan Miller, Bellamy’s best friend. The two have been together for a year now. Lately, she’s been dating Monroe, who’s very nice despite her intimidating exterior — just like Raven. 

“Have you thought about asking him out?” 

Clarke pauses for a moment, thinking about the other day. She spent hours at the local museum with him, looking at art and discussing history. He’d held her hand, even kissed her on the way back to her apartment. “Maybe we’ve already been on a date.” 

At that, Harper stares in puzzlement. “Maybe? Next time, just call it a fucking date and be done with it.”

* * *

  

_December_

The three stolen shirts have evolved into an entire drawer in her dresser. When he shows up at her apartment, it’s not just about sex anymore. Sometimes they have Scrabble contests (which she only wins when he lets her every once in a while) — sometimes, they spend the entire day in bed, cuddling, because college is fucking exhausting. Then there are weekends where they pack small bags of essentials and drive to the woods in his car, warming their hands on mugs of hot chocolate and stealing kisses that taste like S’mores.

“I was thinking,” Clarke starts nervously after he’s turned on another string of fairy lights in her apartment. “Maybe we should stop kidding ourselves.”

When he looks at her over his shoulder, amusement and surprise brightens his eyes, makes crinkles form at their corners. “We’re together. I think we have been for a long time.”

As he walks to her, Clarke watches affection seep into every feature of Bellamy’s face. Bending down, he pecks her lips. “Of course we are.”

 

 **~~ Rules for Sleeping with Bellamy Blake ~~ **

 

  1. ~~Don’t fall in love~~
  2. _~~Don’t~~_ ~~fall in love~~
  3. ~~DON’T FALL IN LOVE~~
  4. _~~DON’T FALL IN L O V E~~_
  5. **~~DON’T FALL IN LOVE~~**



 

(List status: Impossible to follow) 

Laughing, Bellamy pulls her towards him and they end up embracing as the sound of the Christmas music drowns out in the background. “Yesterday, I had to listen to Miller rant about how he, Raven and Harper would make a banner for us as a Christmas present — and how it’d say ‘get a fucking grip, you idiots.’ in all caps.”

Imagining that, Clarke rolls her eyes in amusement. “Luckily, it won’t come to that.” 

With those words, she kisses him, burying her fingertips in his hair. While her love for him throws sparks in her heart like fireworks, making it swell over and over, a new list forms in Clarke’s mind.

 

** Rules for Dating Bellamy Blake **

****

  1. Cherish him
  2. _Don’t ever let him go._



 

These rules, however, she knows she’ll never break.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos make my day! <3


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